"Charmer"
[There are only 3 people in my office today; thought I should entertain some of my time to record a story that people have been beggin me to for years. Enjoy.]
My sophomore & junior years as a Sociology/Spanish double major, I found volunteering at the local Winston-Salem Head Start college-credit-fulfilling, rewarding, and interesting... especially with some of the memories I gained...
I walk down the long hallway in the auxillary building, looking for the sign for the 4 year-old classroom. I make sure my make-shift badge that reads "Volunteer" is visible, as classroom policy states. I walk in to the class and everyone is happy to see me; I love coming to this place. The teachers breathe a sigh of relief as they know my presence means a badly-needed break for them and the children all run to greet me at the door with hugs. I'm just in time for story time on the rug.
The children gather around me on the rug as the teachers go out for a smoke break. The kids always fight for the spot right next to me. Everyone is almost settled down when I notice one child still making his way over to the rug- and he's coming right for me. His name, I will never forget- Charmer.
This child is not a child, but a he-man. This kid is the largest 4 year-old I've ever seen in my life. He's so big that when I first met him, I thought he'd been left behind, a year... or four. The kid's the size of a certified 7 year old. He wheezes when he does the slightest activity, and he can eat enough for two 5th graders. Today this poor child's grandmother has dressed him in a rugby shirt that is about 2 sizes too small- the shirt was no where close to buttoning at the collar; it looks as if the buttons and the eyelets are running as far away from each other as they can get. His little, or I should say BIG, brown chest is showing through. And his pants, Lord Jesus, this kid, realistically about a size 12 Husky, has been shoved into a child's size 7 pants. It looks like he had to have been airlifted and dropped into the pants from about 10 feet high to have gotten into those. His grandmother has tied a braided belt around his waist that cuts this kid off right in the middle; he has to be hurting from loss of circulation between his bottom and top halves. She has carefully tucked his shirt in so that it pulls tightly across his belly. His pants, like his shirt are too small, so his pants are a little high and his sleeves a little short. His thighs rub tightly together as he clods towards me and I know, I just know, that in the back, this kid's pants are so far up his buttcrack that he sports a wedgie that leaves none of his glutial anatomy to the imagination. He stomps through the middle of the circle, pinching little Melissa's finger under the rolling side of his shoe making her squeal.
"Sowee" he breathes heavily. He comes to a jiggly halt, towering over me. As we sit silent and still in hsi shadow, he uses his plump, ashy-knuckled hand to push Johnny (who was sitting next to me) right upside his head, saying "Mooooooooove, Johnny! I sit dere!"
I was getting ready to tell Charmer not to hit, but Johnny had been smartened before to the strength of Charmer and moved his little ass over a spot with the quickness. I silently thanked Johnny in my head, because I did not want to see Charmer mad; I'd imagined him picking students up throwing them across the room into a wall, WWF style. Charmer plops down, smashing my leg and knocking the air out of me. I should've been smart like Johnny and given Charmer some extra landing room. I gather myself, thanking God that was over and look forward to reading the kids an afternoon story. I figure that incident was the worst for the day... so horribly wrong.
We're about halfway through our storybook when suddenly a horrible reeking fragrance sweeps through the circle. I hear the comments from the 4-years olds, first from the left side. Then I get my own whiff, as the smell of someone's horrible gas chokes my airway.
"Eeeew! What's that smell?"
"Somebody stinks..."
I don't entertain the comments, and continue on as if nothing is wrong. However, you can see children pulling their shirts over their noses and I myself am grimacing while finishing the story. The teachers return at the ending of the story, and one of them is obviously roundhouse-kicked in the stomach by the smell because she blurts out, "Oh shit!" They in turn, rescue me, as they announce that it is time for a bathroom break.
My sophomore & junior years as a Sociology/Spanish double major, I found volunteering at the local Winston-Salem Head Start college-credit-fulfilling, rewarding, and interesting... especially with some of the memories I gained...
I walk down the long hallway in the auxillary building, looking for the sign for the 4 year-old classroom. I make sure my make-shift badge that reads "Volunteer" is visible, as classroom policy states. I walk in to the class and everyone is happy to see me; I love coming to this place. The teachers breathe a sigh of relief as they know my presence means a badly-needed break for them and the children all run to greet me at the door with hugs. I'm just in time for story time on the rug.
The children gather around me on the rug as the teachers go out for a smoke break. The kids always fight for the spot right next to me. Everyone is almost settled down when I notice one child still making his way over to the rug- and he's coming right for me. His name, I will never forget- Charmer.
This child is not a child, but a he-man. This kid is the largest 4 year-old I've ever seen in my life. He's so big that when I first met him, I thought he'd been left behind, a year... or four. The kid's the size of a certified 7 year old. He wheezes when he does the slightest activity, and he can eat enough for two 5th graders. Today this poor child's grandmother has dressed him in a rugby shirt that is about 2 sizes too small- the shirt was no where close to buttoning at the collar; it looks as if the buttons and the eyelets are running as far away from each other as they can get. His little, or I should say BIG, brown chest is showing through. And his pants, Lord Jesus, this kid, realistically about a size 12 Husky, has been shoved into a child's size 7 pants. It looks like he had to have been airlifted and dropped into the pants from about 10 feet high to have gotten into those. His grandmother has tied a braided belt around his waist that cuts this kid off right in the middle; he has to be hurting from loss of circulation between his bottom and top halves. She has carefully tucked his shirt in so that it pulls tightly across his belly. His pants, like his shirt are too small, so his pants are a little high and his sleeves a little short. His thighs rub tightly together as he clods towards me and I know, I just know, that in the back, this kid's pants are so far up his buttcrack that he sports a wedgie that leaves none of his glutial anatomy to the imagination. He stomps through the middle of the circle, pinching little Melissa's finger under the rolling side of his shoe making her squeal.
"Sowee" he breathes heavily. He comes to a jiggly halt, towering over me. As we sit silent and still in hsi shadow, he uses his plump, ashy-knuckled hand to push Johnny (who was sitting next to me) right upside his head, saying "Mooooooooove, Johnny! I sit dere!"
I was getting ready to tell Charmer not to hit, but Johnny had been smartened before to the strength of Charmer and moved his little ass over a spot with the quickness. I silently thanked Johnny in my head, because I did not want to see Charmer mad; I'd imagined him picking students up throwing them across the room into a wall, WWF style. Charmer plops down, smashing my leg and knocking the air out of me. I should've been smart like Johnny and given Charmer some extra landing room. I gather myself, thanking God that was over and look forward to reading the kids an afternoon story. I figure that incident was the worst for the day... so horribly wrong.
We're about halfway through our storybook when suddenly a horrible reeking fragrance sweeps through the circle. I hear the comments from the 4-years olds, first from the left side. Then I get my own whiff, as the smell of someone's horrible gas chokes my airway.
"Eeeew! What's that smell?"
"Somebody stinks..."
I don't entertain the comments, and continue on as if nothing is wrong. However, you can see children pulling their shirts over their noses and I myself am grimacing while finishing the story. The teachers return at the ending of the story, and one of them is obviously roundhouse-kicked in the stomach by the smell because she blurts out, "Oh shit!" They in turn, rescue me, as they announce that it is time for a bathroom break.